


In the Parlance of Our Times

by fantasygashapon



Category: The Big Lebowski (1998), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Crossover, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Gun Violence, Humor, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Tags May Change, bowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-07-29 05:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasygashapon/pseuds/fantasygashapon
Summary: Somewhere in Los Angeles county, there is the Dude. A simple man who only wanted some milk for his White Russian cocktails. Instead, he gets himself caught up in some kind of an alien, robot battle at the supermarket parking lot. To make matters worse, he finds his rug ruined and his home invaded by two Decepticon grunts who've mistaken him for a traitorous thief posing as Jeff Lewbowski. In any case, whatever was stolen seems to be a good enough reason for the Autobots to offer him a job as intermediary/bait.





	1. The Narrator

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Transformers fic I've ever posted. It is also the first crossover fic I've ever posted. It's a weird combination, I know, but I want to see where it goes. Admittedly, the prologue is a direct quotation from the movie, but the following chapters will be more original. It'll loosely follow the structure of the Big Lebowski movie. Lots of edits will probably be made.

_A way out west there was this fella, fella I want to tell you about, fella by the name of Jeff Lebowski. At least, that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. _

_This Lebowski, he called himself the Dude._

_Now, Dude, that's a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about the Dude that didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where he lived, like-wise. But then again, maybe that's why I found the place so darned interesting._

_They call Los Angeles the City of Angels. I didn't find it to be that exactly, but I'll allow as there are some nice folks there. Of course, I can't say I've seen London, and I never been to France, and I ain't never seen no queen in her damn undies as the fella says. But I'll tell you what, after seeing Los Angeles and this here story I'm about to unfold--well, I guess I seen something every bit as stupefying as you'd see in any of those other places, and in English too, so I can die with a smile on my face without feeling like the good Lord swindled me._

_Now this story I'm about to unfold took place back in the early nineties--just about the time of our conflict with Megatron and his team of Decepticon baddies. _

_I only mention it 'cause sometimes there's a man-- I won't say a hero, 'cause what's a hero?--but sometimes there's a man...and I'm talking about the Dude here--sometimes there's a man, well, he's the man for his time and place, he fits right in there--and that's the Dude, in Los Angeles…and even if he's a lazy man, and the Dude was certainly that--quite possibly the laziest in Los Angeles County._

_...which would place him high in the running' for laziest worldwide--but sometimes there's a man…sometimes there's a man._

_Well…Lost my train of thought here. But...Aw hell, I done introduced him enough._


	2. Tumbling Tumbleweed pt. 1

It was late that night and the supermarket was all but deserted. There was hardly any sound. All but the faint, slow, country tune that played over the speakers. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the refrigerated sections hummed. It filled the empty store with white noise. 

Staggering along the dairy aisle was a forty-ish looking man in a white v-neck t-shirt, ragged bathrobe, Bermuda shorts, flip flops, and sunglasses. His scruffy look and laid-back attitude suggested a man with whom casualness runs deep. He didn’t much care to be called by the name his uptight parents gave him. The few that had the pleasure of knowing him would call him ‘The Dude.’

He reached for a quart of half-and-half and examined the expiration dates. As a precaution, he glanced around, making sure no one was in sight. He tentatively opened the container and sniffed in the carton for freshness. After all, he couldn’t make a proper White Russian without fresh ingredients and there was one other way to be certain.

* * *

The young checkout girl dully waits for The Dude, with milk beading his mustache, to write out a check for sixty-nine cents. 

He looks over his shades at a small TV next to the register. It shows the President of the United States giving a press-conference on the White House lawn. 

"--calls for a collective action. This will not stand. This will not stand! This Decepticon aggression against the American people--" 

He faintly remembers the name Deception back when he was randomly flipping through some late night cable. He thought it was some rock band since it was such a weird name, but he never knew that it was a terrorists group.

Come to think of it, his bowling buddy Walter probably did mention them in passing.

"Paper or plastic?" asked the checkout girl, her voice was painfully monotonous.

"Uhh--plastic, I guess," he said.

She bags the milk and turns away to watch the rest of the program. 

As soon as The Dude walked past the automated sliding doors, he saw something that stopped him, for just a moment. It wasn’t his 1973 Ford Gran Torino that he left in the middle of the empty parking lot. He had that car for years and he really liked that car. It seemed fine, but there was a police car that parked awfully close to it. 

He sighed. All he wanted was a relaxing night before his next bowling game. Other than harmlessly smoke a couple of joints, he didn't think he did anything that would warrant in getting himself arrested. He usually had no trouble with the police, but his somewhat sloppy appearance would attract some unwanted attention. He quietly braced himself for possible confrontation and walked towards his car. 

Upon closer look, the police car was empty. He relaxed as there was no longer a reason to feel nervous about dealing with any authority figures. He figured that even late-night cops needed to grab a couple of snacks for their late night patrols. Or maybe they had a witness they needed to talk to inside the store.

Whatever the case may be, he settled with the innate understanding that figuring these things out, like the whys, wasn't his problem.

However, he did find to have one problem though. The police car was parked too close to the drivers side of his car. There wasn't enough space for him to get in. He would have to crawl through the passenger's side. He groaned internally. 

He walks over to the other side of his car, digging through his pocket for his keys.

Suddenly, the police car was hit by a small explosion. Out of nowhere, a voice cries out in pain.

“Gaaahh!”

The Dude falls over backwards in surprise. What in the world just happened? He peered over his car and saw a burnt, gaping hole on the hood of the police car. He quickly covered his mouth with his sleeve to stop directly breathing in the smoke that was coming out.

“What the hell?” he coughed.

Then his jaws dropped in disbelieving terror as he watched the police car transform, right before his very eyes, into some kind of 15-some foot giant metal robot. The robot lifted its arms to shield itself from more incoming explosions. The Dude takes cover behind his car. He watches as the robot’s right hand breaks apart and rebuild itself into some sort of cannon. The cannon's interior glows read as it whirls to life. The robot readies it's stance and returns fire.


	3. Tumbling Tumbleweed pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very much aware on my awkward writing style. But I just wanted to post this chapter, just to overcome my anxiety on posting new content. I'll make edits to this and other chapters later.

The Dude took cover behind his car as fire was being exchanged. Everything about this moment was just pure insanity. But whatever was going on was out of his hands and he had to find a way to escape, lest he get killed in the crossfire. He quietly peered over his car to survey the situation.

The walking police car immediately took notice of the Dude.

"You have to leave, now!" it yelled. The police car shielded it's face from more incoming blasts.

The Dude shrank back behind his car. He didn't need to be told twice.

“Defeat: Imminent. Prowl: Offline,” said a robotic voice.

The Dude felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest. He fumbled around his bathrobe pockets for his keys. He tried to keep his hands still, but they couldn't stop shaking from the stress. He finally unlocked the door and scrambled to the driver's side. After today, he is never going to go shopping at that store again. He turned the keys to start the car. The engine only sputtered.

“Come-on, work with me here, man." he muttered. The Dude kept wiggled the steering wheel back and forth while turning the key.

Prowl rolled out of the way to dodge and accidentally bumped into the Dude's car. Prowl quickly pushed the car out of the line of fire. The Dude tightly gripped the wheel to keep steady from the sudden jolt. His head bumped into the window from the momentum. 

When he looked up from the wheel and saw a giant, boxy robot taking cover behind the corner of the supermarket.

"You cannot keep this up, Soundwave. Surrender and turn yourself over to the Autobots." said Prowl. He landed a shot at Soundwave's arm.

“Laserbeak, Buzzsaw: Eject!” said Soundwave.

Two giant cassettes popped out of Soundwave's chest. Both of which transformed into red and yellow, metal hawks. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw circled around the Prowl while shooting lasers from its beaks. Prowl tried to tried to fire back, but he couldn't see from the barrage of lasers.

The situation seemed to be turning for the worst. The Dude tried to turn on the ignition, but the car kept sputtering. Nothing seemed to be working. He tried to smack the dashboard, but accidentally bumped his elbow into horn. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw briefly stopped to focus their attention on the noise. Prowl took this opportunity to take aim at Soundwave and shoot him squarely in the chest. Smoke billowed out of the wound.

Soundwave moaned in pain and covered the gaping hole in his chest.

"Laserbeak, Buzzsaw: Retreat,” said Soundwave. 

Soundwave shrank and transformed into a regular-sized boombox. Laserbeak grabbed Soundwave by the handle while Buzzsaw kept shooting suppressing fire from its beak before they both flew away.

Prowl transformed back into a police car and drove after them. Leaving only a trail of skid marks.

The Dude was left all alone in the parking lot. Everything was quiet, all but the faint crackle of fires scattered around the destroyed lot. He had looped into some chaotic situations before, but this. This took the entire cake.

He weakly turned the keys and the car rumbled to life. He wearily placed his forehead on the steering wheel. In the distance he could hear police sirens getting louder. The Dude was not going to wait around to see what will happen next. He booked it as fast as he could out of there.


	4. Obviously, You're Not a Golfer

The Dude's junker of a car rolls up on the street beside a row of housing units. It was a bungalow complex with cheap rent. He had a good relationship with the landlord who would sometimes let him put off the rent.

He looks at this side mirror. The street was empty, not another car in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief. On his drive back home, the Dude felt a little bit of anxiety every time he passed by a car. He never knew these Deceptions could hide in plain sight. These aliens really were something. It took a whole joint for him to finally chill out. Whatever horrors happened tonight, couldn't be solved with a nice drink in the safety of his home.

He walked inside and flipped on the lights. The house was empty and things seemed peaceful. That was until a voice suddenly screamed at him. Something hard and metallic looped around the Dude’s neck, dragging him to the bathroom. It slams the Dude into the toilet. Milk splashed into the walls.

“Where’s the catalyst, Swindle?” it said. 

The blue and purple robot dunks him into the toilet again.

“I want that catalyst crystal, you slag. Megatron says you’re due.”

He pulls his head out for him to breath and dunks it again. The Dude struggles, trying not to swallow more toilet water.

“Where’s the catalyst, Swindle!?”

His head is plunged back into the toilet.

“Where’s the catalyst, Swindle!?”

The hands haul him out again, leaving him soaking wet and gasping for breath.

“Where’s the fragging catalyst, slag-head!?” the robot yelled.

The Dude gasps for air. He was just completely drained after the adrenaline rush of a night he'd just experienced today. That and the marijuana. Compared to the giants he'd encountered, these two robots were small. About the size and bulk of a body builder.

“It's uh, it's down there somewhere. Lemme take another look," The Dude said, flatly.

His head was plunged back in.

“Don’t frag with us.” said the blue robot.

The inquisitor hauls his head out one last time and flops him over so that he sits on the floor, back against the toilet.

"Soundwave has been getting suspicious on your lack of reports, Swindle. So either you still haven't recovered the catalyst crystal or you were planning on selling it for yourself."

The red and black robot behind him pounds his fist into his palm.

"You tell him, Rumble." it chimed.

Rumble leaned closer to the Dude and smiled menacingly.

"And you and I both know that Lord Megatron will have your helm if you don't deliver," he said. 

The red and black robot walks over to a rug.

"Ever to traitors, Swindle." it says, before it leaked fluids on the rug.

"Oh, no. Don't do that. Not on the rug, man," said the Dude.

Rumble point back at the red and black robot. "You see what happens, Swindle? You see what happens?" yelled Rumble.

The Dude doesn't know what to make of this Swindle-guy. But he knows things will go a lot more smoothly if he calmly explained himself without escalating the situation.

"You got the wrong guy. I'm not Swindle. I'm 'The Dude,' man," he said.

"Your designation is Swindle, Swindle. You're a Combiticon that went AWoL. You’ve been hiding in that pathetic holoform, calling yourself Lebowski."

"Combat--? A Combaticon?"

He checks his head and winces when he feels a bump on his forehead.

"Man, do I look like I'm some kind of Combati--holo--whatever? Some kind of a robot? Does this place look like some kind of secret robot hideout? The toilet seat's up, man." He slams the lid shut.

Rumble unzips the satchel. He pulls out a bowling ball and examines it.

The Dude's fishes his sunglasses that fell in the toilet bowl and puts them on. He just got swirlied by two human-sized robots. Decepticons, maybe. He refused to take these thugs seriously. 

“What the frag is this?” said Rumble.

“Obviously you’re not a golfer,” the Dude said, sarcastically.

Rumble drops the bowling ball which pulverizes the linoleum tiles

“Frenzy?”

“Yeah?” said the red and black robot.

“This isn't Lebowski.”

“What do you mean?” said Frenzy. He pulled out a data pad. He pointed at the screen. “Soundwave hacked into the Autobot files. Jeffrey Lebowski was the name that came up. This _is_ Lebowski's address.”

“Let me check." Rumble took the data pad from his hands, then smacked upside Frenzy's head.

"You slagger, there are two Jeffrey Lebowskis in this area. We're supposed to go after the one with loads of money.” said Rumble.

Frenzy looked around at their surroundings. Another run-down domicile.

“Frag.” said Frenzy.

“Yeah, what do you think?” said Rumble.

Frenzy puts away the datapad. “He looks like another gross fleshie to me.”

The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose.

“Hey. At least I’m housebroken," said the Dude.

The two robots look at each other and walked out the door.

“Fragging waste of time," muttered Rumble before he slams the door behind him shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, remember the first Bayformers movie when they've decided to add a weird bit of toilet humor for Bumbleebee? Poor Agent Seymour. Figured that bit of biology on a race mechanical aliens would work just for ruining the Dude's rug. That'll be the only call back to that universe though.


	5. It Really Tied the Room Together

A scrawny man with dark hair, wearing a bowling shirt and a pair of khaki pants turns from the clattering strike to walk back to the bench. 

  
  


"I'm throwing rocks tonight. Mark it, Dude," said Donny. His game was never anything less then perfect. He essentially pulled his entire, less then stellar, team through the bowling league game. But he was fine with the arrangement since his teammates always had something interesting to say, even when they would try to push him away from their conversation.

  
  


On the circular bench, a big man leans back. He nurses a plastic cup full of beer. He has dark worried eyes, hidden behind a pair of aviator glasses, and a trim goatee. He wears a khaki army surplus vest over a black shirt. His hairy legs emerge from his blue jean shorts. Walter never really wore anything that didn't remind him of his glory days of 'Nam.

  
  


"This was a valued rug," said Walter.

  
  


He taps his cigarette into an ashtray. The Dude digs into his satchel to remove his bowling ball. Walter clears his throat. Donny overhears the interesting conversation and tries to insert himself in by sitting next to Walter.

  
  


"Yeah man, it really tied the room together--," said the Dude.

  
  


"What tied the room together, Dude?" Donny interrupted.

  
  


"My rug."

  
  


Walter turned over to Donny.

“Were you listening to the story, Donny?” said Walter. His voice was laced with mild irritation.

  
  


“I was bowling--,” said Donny. 

  
  


"So you have no frame of reference, here Donny. You're like a child who wanders in the middle of a movie and wants to--"

  
  


"Walter--Walter, what's the point, man?" the Dude interrupted.

  
  


“There's no fucking reason--here's my point, Dude--there's no fucking reason why these --”

  
  


“Yeah Walter, what's your point?” Donny interrupted.

  
  


Before Walter could answer, the Dude interrupts him. 

  
  


"Walter, what's the point. Look--we all know who was at fault here, what the fuck are you talking about?"

  
  


"What the fuck are you--?" said Walter. He paused, trying to collect his thoughts from two different strings of conversation. "I'm not--we're talking about unchecked aggression here, Dude."

  
  
  


"What the fuck is he talking about?" said Donny.

  
  


Walter grew more agitated from Donny's constant interruptions. 

  
  


"Forget it, Donny. You're out of your element," said Walter.

  
  


"Walter, the robots who peed on my rug, I can't go give and give them a bill. They're Decepticons, they'll fucking kill me the moment they fucking see me, man. So what the fuck are you talking about?"

  
  


"Those robots are not the issue here dude! I'm talking about drawing a line in the sand, Dude. Across this line you do not--also, Dude, robot is not the preferred nomenclature. Cybertronian, please."

"How the fuck did you know what they were called--" the Dude paused. He didn't want to say anything that would stray further away from the topic. "Walter, we're not talking about a Star Trek episode, here, these are the guys--"

  
  


"What the fuck are you talking--?" Walter yelled.

  
  


"Walter, he peed on my rug."

  
  


"Robots peed on the Dude's rug?" Donny interrupted.

"Donny, you're out of your element!" yelled Walter. "Dude, those robots are not the issue here."

  
  


"So who, who--?" said the Dude.

  
  


"The Autobots, Dude. The ones who are supposed to fight the Decepticons.

  
  


"That's fucking interesting man, that's fucking interesting…" said the Dude.

"The one from last night, the cop car, seemed to be an Autobot. They must have a base nearby, or something."

  
  


"Well, of course they do, Dude." said Walter. 

"Plus, they have the wealth, obviously, and the resources of the US government, uh, so that there is no reason--there's no fucking reason, why their business should spill all over town and drag people like you into their mess by letting their enemies come and they pee on your fucking rug! Am I wrong?"

  
  


"No..." 

  
  


"Okay then." said Walter. He elaborately clears his throat.

  
  


"That rug really tied the room together, did it not?" said Walter.

  
  


"Fuckin' A-," said the Dude.

  
  


"And the robots peed on it?" said Donny, "Can robots do that?"

  
  


"Donny. Please," Walter responds.

  
  


"You know, this uh--this Swindle-guy--I could also ask these Autobots why this 'Swindle' is posing as Jeffrey Lebowski."

  
  


"His name is Lebowski? That's your name, Dude!" said Donny.

  
  


The Dude swings another drink of his beer, leaving some froth on his moustache. He was starting to feel worked up from the situation he had to face.

  
  


"These Autobots are supposed to protect us from this kind of shit. They're the ones who should compensate me for the fucking rug. And they just let these Decepticons, Cyber--whatever, drag me in into their mess and let them pee on my rug?"

  
  


"They peed on your fucking rug?" said Walter.

  
  


"They peed on my fucking rug."

  
  


"That's right, Dude. They peed on your fucking rug."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like how the Coen brothers write their dialogue. Especially in the bowling alley scenes where the Dude just talks with his friends. When I read the Big Lebowski script, the actors said exactly what was written, verbatim.


End file.
